


The Rickest Morty

by Inu_Sama



Series: RICK AND MORTY FICS [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Child Abuse, Cold Morty, F/M, Gen, M/M, Morty Sanchez - Freeform, Slow To Update, Smart Morty Smith, Undecided Relationships, don't know if there will be slash yet, evil morty - Freeform, homicidal Morty, not alot of dialogue tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 22:57:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inu_Sama/pseuds/Inu_Sama
Summary: Morty sat down on his bed, nursing the cuts on his hand. He really should get around to getting a first-aid kit in here, but he always forgot until the next time he was locked in his bedroom, injured.





	The Rickest Morty

“Morty!” The horrified voice of his mother pierced his ears unpleasantly and he scowled. Insufferable woman. Morty turned away from the squirming boy under him to look at her. They looked nothing alike, _acted_ nothing alike. She was blonde and tanned with big blue eyes and thin lips.

He was fair skinned with brown hair so dark it could be considered black, with amber eyes. It was an unusual colour, one the other kids thought they could use against him - hence his current situation.

He would have thought himself adopted if not for the pictures of his pathetic father on the mantel. His parents had been separated for years now and despite his edict memory, he couldn’t recall ever meeting the man. Maybe he simply didn’t want to.

Morty narrowed his eyes at the old man standing a little bit behind his mother, he was new. A shrink? Beth had tried that on him before and other than traumatising a few doctors, they’d had no progress.

Morty released the boy--Newton Johns-- who thought he’d look nice with a few bruises and barely blinked when Johns screamed. If you held the arms at a certain angle for too long and with enough pressure, you could break them.

“What on Earth did you do?!” His mother screeched, looking around for any witnesses. She couldn’t bear the other mothers looking at her like a failure, like she was the one that made the angelic monster standing dutifully before her. Morty’s lip curled in irritation, he swore she was part Banshee.

“He thought I was an easy target, I had to teach him a lesson.” He replied, voice calm even as his classmate wailed in the background.

“I-I have to call an ambulance! Oh, _God_ Morty! _Why_ do you have to be this way?!” His mother lamented, pulling out her cell phone as she went over to the boy he’d tortured. His nostrils flared with anger as he bared his teeth at her back in a soundless snarl, clenching his hands.

“She doesn’t mean it like that, Squirt.” A deep voice said from behind him. Morty straightened his spine and turned to the stranger with a wry smile, the mask settling over his features with practiced ease.

“Yes, she does. She’s ashamed of me, how I make her look.” He watched Beth fuss over Johns, trying and failing to stop him from making any more noise that could attract the neighbours. Morty made sure to look pathetic, scuffing his shoe against the concrete path.

They were at the little park that centered the cul de sac his mother had apparently moved them to after the divorce. Pale blue eyes narrowed on Beth, a contemplative frown on that wizened face.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.” The stranger turned his gaze back to the little boy that reminded him so much of himself when he was younger.

Morty stared back, surprised. That’s not what shrinks are supposed to say, and he told him as much. He was bewildered when the man laughed, a warm sound that made his insides all fuzzy. Morty hated it.

“I’m not a psychiatrist, Morty.” And it was true, the more he looked at him, the more he could see Beth. Though he looked to be far happier, judging by the laugh lines around his mouth.

His mother only had frown lines, deep valleys of disapproval that always seemed to worsen whenever she looked at him. Then it clicked, and he felt a little flutter of anticipation which he quickly masked before it had a chance to show.

 _‘Never show your full hand’_ was just one of the many mottos Morty liked to try and live his life by. So far it had worked out for him.

“Oh, you’re Beth’s father, aren’t you?” He announced, pulling up from the depths a boredness he only got when he was at a standstill on one or more of his projects. Beth’s father gave him an odd look, like that wasn’t the reaction he’d expected, but nodded anyway.

“Yes, m’name’s Rick.” The man said casually, gaze sliding off to the left as if he, too, was bored of this conversation. It stung a little, to be honest - though he had a feeling, deep in his gut, that it was just as much a front as his.

Still, Morty, unable to find anything to say, impatiently brushed the hair out of his eyes as the sound of sirens reached their quiet little neighbourhood. But, try as he might, he couldn’t truly keep hold of his thrice-damned curiosity.

“Well? What are you doing here after all this time then?” He demanded with a lot more dignity than he had expected with the way emotion was bubbling under the surface, so close to breaching. He knew from the other kids at school and from television, that normal grandfathers were supposed to visit all the time on holidays and birthdays.

Or, in some cases, even _live_ with their children. Morty found himself wishing that had been true, then he could have had someone to talk to, someone to take his side. That thought was heady, potentially having an ally in this suburban jungle of ridicule and prejudice.

Perhaps then Beth wouldn’t have broken his trust all those years ago, wouldn’t have been _able_ to. Maybe the man _(his grandfather)_ abandoned Beth, just like Jerry abandoned Morty--loathe as he was to admit that he had a father in the first place, really more of a sperm donor than anything else.

The man looked taken aback by the blunt accusation, though Morty could see by the sharpness of his eyes that he understood what Morty wasn’t saying; _‘How could you leave me here with her_ **_alone_ ** _’_ and--Ah, there it was; amusement.

It would not be stifled and instead manifested in the twitching of lips and the crinkle of eyes. Morty firmly kept a grasp on his own satisfaction and kinship he could already feel blooming under his breastbone.

It wasn’t often he could stand being in the presence of another for too long without wanting to _hurt_ them. He was…excited for this new experience.

“I came to see _you_ , actually.” he finally said, all traces of emotion gone with his regained equilibrium. Morty frowned, mouthing the words in confusion. He hadn’t expected that, not really. Mostly due to the fact of how would Rick even know about him?

If Beth’s drunken rants were anything to go by, he’d been gone for over _twenty years_. Morty himself had only lived maybe  _half_ that time, and he certainly didn’t recall Beth talking about him as anything but a painful and _distant memory_.

There were so many possibilities to that one little admission - and it was an admission, the man had unwittingly given Morty more to chew on than he probably thought. With Rick being a scientist, a brilliant one, if his mother had any say - it brought to life much more than a typical abandonment story.

He could have been world-hopping, razing entire civilisations to the proverbial ground, or raising them into something greater. Morty had toyed with the idea of alternate realities, but he hadn’t gotten far into his research yet.

The librarian kept giving him odd looks when he requested material he’d seen advertised online. So he’d abandoned it for the moment, at least until he was older and could buy his own damn books.

He refused to ask Beth for anything remotely sciency - she’d just assume he was planning world domination or something. Which, to be entirely honest, he _had_ thought about that too.

But the paperwork that would undoubtedly come with it when he won seemed to sap any and all motivation he could muster. Instead he was focusing on building himself some invisibility gear. Morty had recently been tasked with reading _Harry Potter_ at school and he was interested in making magic a reality using science.

It was a challenge he set himself to keep from getting bored, because when he got bored…he got a little _violent_. He knew it wasn’t normal, but it’s not like he could stop feeling the things he felt. Nobody could.

Morty turned his attention outward again, having lost himself to his own thoughts on the sheer _advantage_ Rick’s existence brought, how much he could learn--Rick was staring at him, looking like he knew what Morty had been thinking about and was parts amused and nostalgic.

The last part confused him a bit, but he let it go as Beth rejoined them. He could pick the man’s brain later - and he was sure there would be a later, he didn’t know how, but his trusty gut was adamant.

Beth swooped in as soon as she was close enough and snatched Morty’s arm in a painful grip, as if she feared he would try to run. He wouldn't, he knew by now that it never worked.

“Morty, you are in _so much trouble!_ ” She hissed in his ear and Morty refused to give her the satisfaction of watching him wince, he’d endured far worse. Instead his expression became stony as he let her tug him across the street to their house.

Rick followed behind, his shadow looming in the doorway with the fading sunlight. Morty was thrown to the base of the stairs and watched as his mother turned to the man with blue hair (such an odd colour!) and do a complete 180.

“Dad,” She said sweetly, “Why don’t you go and get yourself settled in the living room while I deal with Morty.” He looked like he made to protest, gaze going to Morty with a silent question, but the boy only gave him a stern nod. He could handle this on his own, he had before.

“Alright, Beth.” He agreed reluctantly, sparing one last glance at the too-thin boy before making his way to the couch. Morty could hear the TV being switched on as Beth turned back to him, all traces of a sweet daughter gone from her expression.

“Up, _Now_.” She growled, and Morty was kind of glad Summer had a part-time job now. He didn’t doubt his sister would have intervened and only made things worse for the both of them. At least Rick understood.

With as much decorum as he could manage, Morty went up the stairs, his mother dogging his every step. His room was the first door on the right, on the coldest side of the house. He didn’t mind the cold, he’d learned to live with it when Beth had removed the radiator from his room as punishment for pouring acid over her prized roses.

In his defence, he’d wanted to see the effects of different grades of acid on different kinds of plantlife. Find out which ones were more resistant and why. He couldn’t, sadly, do the same with the neighborhood cats - they were both too fast for him to catch and the little old ladies that owned them would chuck a hissy fit and that would not end well for him.

He’d hoped to make a serum that would render the drinker impervious to the flesh-eating liquids, which could be useful for later experiments. But after that he had been forced to abandon that particular project. It was still in his notes though, with the citation to pick it up again when he was a little older and could feasibly go out on his own.

In his distraction, Beth was able to get the jump on him, shoving him into his desk. He bit back a curse when he braced himself on the corners, his left palm sinking into a cog. The metal teeth tore at his skin and Morty could feel warm blood starting to trickle out of the small wounds when he straightened up again.

They were both aware of the volume to the TV turning down, but only Morty seemed to hear the near-silent footsteps coming up the stairs. Morty felt a tendril of shame and guilt curl around his esophagus like thick smoke before he forcibly pushed it away.

It wouldn’t be easy for either of them to hear what Beth was obviously gearing up for if the shade of purple her skin was turning was any indication. She wasn’t just angry with Morty about potentially horrifying the neighbours, no, she was leery of what her dad would think.

“Morty, you need to stop. Your actions only make me-- _us_ look bad.” She tried to appeal to his sense of logic first, as she always did. He knew this dance, it was one he’d been taught at a very young age when Beth’s drinking first got out of control and Summer wasn’t around to take the brunt of it.

So Morty stayed silent, knowing that anything he said would only incriminate himself further, give her ammunition against him. But he also refused, for the sake of his pride, to be cowed by her. He stared straight into her eyes, cold amber against furious blue.

“DO YOU _WANT_ TO GET TAKEN AWAY?!” She finally burst out in exasperation, beyond irritated at her apparent lack of authority. She had skipped guilt-tripping and outright begging and gone straight into intimidation.

 _Wow, she **was** rattled by Rick’s presence,_ Morty thought in half amusement, half annoyance. But then Morty thought about what she’d said, and though it was a common fear tactic of hers, for the first time he realised that, no, he didn’t want that.

Because if Social Services took him away from this wretched place, he may not ever see Rick again. Wouldn’t be able to leech all that knowledge from him, his experience was invaluable to Morty.

So many of his ideas could come to fruition with his help, an expert eye to help him unravel the mysteries of cloaking devices and teleportation, self-aiming daggers and poisons. He shivered with excitement that Beth mistook for fear and she eagerly latched onto the perceived weakness.

“Because that’s what’ll happen if you don’t behave, Morty. They’ll take you away and dump you in an orphanage where they won’t let you fiddle with your little devices or get you those advanced chem books you wanted last year.” But Morty wasn’t listening, still wrapped up in his own thoughts.

But the sudden and intense sting in his right cheek and the loud sound of flesh hitting flesh told him he should probably listen to the angry matriarch, despite however undeserving of that title she was.

“You will _listen_ to me, boy or--or so help me…!” She trailed off meaningfully, apparently now too angry for words. Instead of hitting him again, like Morty expected, Beth left instead. Most likely to play the perfect daughter so she could sneak away later to drown herself in wine.

She shut the door a little more forcefully than was probably necessary and as Morty pressed his ear to the door, he could hear the tell tale sound of a lock sliding into place. He sighed in agitation.

Why must she always get in his way? He hadn’t been this frustrated with her since the time she tried to burn his notebooks. It was that night, now more than three years ago when he was laying in a puddle of his own blood, that Morty let go of any hope of having that special relationship kids are supposed to have with their mothers. She was as far from loving as _Voldemort_ was from sane.

Morty idly noted that Rick must have left pretty quickly if Beth didn’t encounter him on the stairs and he wondered just how much the man had heard and what he thought of the precious little girl he’d left all those years ago and the horrible monster she’d turned into.

Morty sat down on his bed, nursing the cuts on his hand. He really should get around to getting a first-aid kit in here, but he always forgot until the next time he was locked in his bedroom, injured.

He flopped down onto his back, his injured hand cradled to his chest as he closed his eyes. He might as well get some much-needed rest, he hadn’t slept in a few days and it was, pathetically, catching up to him.

He yawned, slipping under the covers after toeing off his sneakers. Sometimes he really hated having such human needs to take care of, they always got in the way of productivity.


End file.
